Bust Your Kneecaps
by mng042197
Summary: When Constance marries Ben, a prominent mob boss, Tate's life changes forever. He can have anything in the world, but what does he really want? The one thing that he can't have, of course...Violet Harmon.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

The first time he ever saw her, he didn't think he'd ever seen someone more like him—her dirty blonde hair framing her face and a ratty old sweater that hung from her petite shoulders making her look like the tiniest thing he'd ever seen. She'd glanced at him in the hall and he'd caught a glimpse of her warm brown eyes for just a moment, the way her sly, crooked smile curved upwards the moment she caught him staring at her. It had surprised him how sexy this was, how he had thought about it all day long, all night long until the very next morning when he still couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow different from everyone else that he had ever met.

He followed her the next day, whenever he could, watching with inquisitive eyes as she went through her day silently. She would walk to the park down the street at lunch, refusing to eat, and smoke a cigarette instead. He'd thought he might join her, but he hadn't been able to work up the courage. After all, who was he anyway? What would make her want him? If anything, she would stay away from him. Yes, if she were smart, if she listened, she would avoid him at all costs. Because who wants to get involved with the mob boss's kid? No one, that's who.

So, instead of trying to meet her, he watched her from a distance, admiring the way she seemed so aloof to all of the ridiculousness that surrounded her. She was so far above the fray and it made him love her just a little bit—not in the romantic sort of way, naturally. But it made him admire her, made him feel less alone even if he knew he'd never be able to have her. Instead, he contented himself to dreaming, and wondering at how amazing this stranger must be, this girl who he had never spoken a word to but who has owned his ass since the day she walked into the building. Maybe it was the mystery behind her or the depth behind her eyes—like she had seen things that had changed her, made her more than all the rest of them—or maybe it was just a lucky characteristic that had him all hyped up. Hell, maybe it was even the drugs. But, regardless of the reasons, all Tate knew was that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone in his life.

From a very young age, nothing was beyond Tate Langdon's reach. His mother—promiscuous ex-showgirl that she was, aside from being a hopeless, raging alcoholic—had hooked Ben Harmon with a great deal of luck and an insurmountable number of plastic surgeries. She'd been nipped and tucked and stuffed, all in preparation for finding a man like him with power and influence and, above all, an endless supply of money and substances to abuse. He'd taken Tate under his wing early on. Or he'd tried to at least. Ben had offered him women and coke and a bottomless bank account and he had taken what he could get for a while. But there came a day when it was all empty and he was so depressed that he couldn't seem to ever come down from his highs without doping himself up again.

The worst were the days when Constance would hit him, or send Ben or one of his guys to do the job for her. On this particular day, his nose slightly more crooked that usual with dried blood encrusting the very tip. He couldn't remember quite what he had done. Overall, he was a great disappointment to his mother and, in truth, she couldn't handle him. This was just another reason why she had chosen Ben. He could control her son to some extent and that was a welcome perk to being a mob wife.

The school hallways were emptying out now but Tate didn't feel the need to hurry to get to class. He was buzzing with artificial energy, though he was starting to crash and he didn't like it. Nothing felt real anymore and he thought he just might go crazy. He didn't want the money or the drugs or the violence. He'd had enough of its effects. He didn't want to be abused. If anything, he wanted to kill Ben and Constance and be done with it. If he did he would die too soon, he knew, because the Harmon family would never let him go. They would never relent until they had delivered to him the same fate.

So he pushed down the murderous emotions and focused on the hallway ahead, on a figure looming in the distance. It was small and leaned up against a locker, hands cupped over its face. He wondered who it was, if something was wrong, though he doubted that he would help even if something was. He wasn't the type. So when he heard the expletives whispered from the unknown person's lips, he did his best to ignore them.

As he got closer, though, he realized who it was standing there. It was her in all of her grungy glory. And as she lifted her head and dropped her hands from where they had rested over her face he saw the reason for her anger.

A pretty little shiner adorned the skin around her left eye, the flesh scraped and bleeding a little over her cheek bone. He didn't mean to stare, yet he couldn't help himself. She was fascinating, just as addictive as anything, and he couldn't stop watching her, not even now when he knew she would notice.

"What are you staring at?" she hissed, glaring daggers at the sad looking blonde boy in front of her, his big brown doe eyes staring back at her in a way that was all his own despite his current status and a Kurt Cobain look alike.

"Sorry." he mouthed, stopping for a moment to stand before her, debating whether he should introduce himself or not. In the end, he decided that if he ever hoped to escape Constance and her nightmare of a husband, he might just need his sanity. "My name's Tate. I think I have some classes with you..."

He expected her to introduce herself with cordial disregard, but she didn't. Instead, she scoffed at him, as though that was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. "The name's Violet. And do you honestly think I haven't seen you? You're everywhere. You're my stalker. But I guess it's nice to put a name to the face."

And with that, she walked away, leaving him more dumbfounded and more determined than ever to get to know more about this mysterious girl of his.

_Violet. _


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

This day, Tate didn't see Violet anywhere. She hadn't been in school and he was getting worried, even though he knew he had absolutely no reason for alarm. He didn't know her and she didn't know him. It had only been one day, after all. Yet as he walked down the main drive through town, he couldn't help but search the faces in the crowd for the warm brown eyes that he so desperately needed to see.

They hadn't spoken since that day in the hallway and he still wondered about the black eye—how she had gotten it and, more importantly, who had given it to her. That was what mattered more to him than anything, that he know who it was who had gotten it in his head that it was alright to hurt her. Maybe it was the years of mafia involvement or all of the possessive men around him, but he felt like he could kill anyone who looked a Violet; it would be justified. She was his, regardless of whether she knew it or not. Because he had decided that he would have her and that was all there was to it.

After a good half-hour of wondering from store to store, Tate had almost given up hope of seeing her today. He had to be home by four to attend one of Constance's and Ben's fabulous parties where he would most likely begin to wish he was either dead or too far gone to notice anything happening around him. Ben would be trying to groom him into a future mob boss and Constance would be singing his praise. But he would know the truth: it was all absolute bullshit. They weren't a happy family and he wouldn't be Mr. Harmon's prince-in-training. In the end, he would do something to embarrass them and they would send him to his room.

He was about to turn the corner onto the next street when he caught sight of thin, legging-clad legs and a red sweater that was far too big for the girl who wore it. She was standing in front of the thrift shop, a nearly burnt out cigarette between her fingers, just as intriguing as ever. When she saw him coming towards her, she smirked that devilish smirk of hers that made his heart pound even faster in his chest and he prayed to God that she was just as affected by his presence as he was hers.

"What? So now you're gonna start following me home? I'm not gonna lie, kid, this is getting a little too sketchy—even for you, you little creeper."

He laughed, shaking off her sarcastic reprimand and falling into step beside her as she stalked away from the storefront. She wouldn't get away from him this time. He'd already made up his mind. Tate wanted her and when he wanted something he almost always got it.

"Are you busy?" he asked, watching as he lips turned up into a cocky smile that made him squirm.

"I don't even know your name. I'm not gonna go out with you."

"I can fix that. It's Tate. See, now you know my name. So how 'bout it? There's a coffee shop down at the corner. We could have a drink, get to know one another. It might be nice, considering I follow you around all the time anyway."

Violet didn't want to give into him, but he was getting to her. Tate was funny and she liked that. Even his strange approach to meeting her was only feeding into her preoccupation with the unusual, grungy teenager who had become infatuated with her. "I don't know. I try to avoid situations that might end with being raped in an alley way."

"That's good. I wouldn't want you getting hurt. And I promise, if you come and have a cup of coffee with me and you absolutely can't stand me after an hour then I won't ever follow you anywhere again."

She looked at him sideways, thinking things over, seemingly trying to decide if she should let it go or not. Violet didn't doubt that he wouldn't leave her alone unless she gave him a chance and she knew that she would eventually. It was only a matter of time. But she wanted to play with him first. "What do I get out of it?" she queried, picking at a loose strand of thread on the sleeve of her sweater.

Tate laughed, digging his hands deep in his pocket and furrowing his brow in mock surprise. "Isn't it obvious? You get to spend an hour with an amazing and stunningly good looking guy who worships the ground you walk on. Could it get any better? I've gotta tell you, Violet, you would be an idiot to turn down an opportunity like this."

"Oh really?" He shrugged, nodding slightly. Somehow, she felt that was over exaggerated. But she would play along none the less. She found herself extremely curious, attracted to some sort of darkness that seemed to lay under Tate's sweet, boyish surface. Just what sort of darkness lurked behind his dark eyes was what puzzled her. What made him tick? And why had he taken such an interest in her? "And you promise to stop creeping on me if I agree?"

"Of course."

Violet shook her head. "Fine. Where're we going?"

"Just this way."

And he knew that he had her. He'd done it and he was so pleased with himself that he couldn't stop grinning. As they walked through the doors to the little café, he watched Violet wring her hands anxiously. He made her nervous and he liked that. It meant she liked him, liked him more than she should. He couldn't help thinking how he wanted her, how his body reacted to her close proximity. He barely knew her, but he understood her, related to her, felt something within her that made her like him. Perhaps it was her coarseness or her confidence, but he absolutely certain that she was entirely unique. He hadn't ever met a girl like Violet before and he didn't think he ever would. He sat across from her at the table, more than a little proud of himself.

"So, I'm glad I finally got your attention. It's about time too. Stalking takes a lot of dedication you know."

A brilliant smile spread across his lips, accenting the dimples in his cheeks, his eyes glowing warmly, peering into her deeply. It was like he was seeing straight into her soul. And Violet knew from that moment on that she was in way over her head.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Author's Note: Hey, everyone. So, I'm sorry these chapters have been so short but I promise they will get longer. I just wanted to kind of set things up for the story. I've had a little bit of writer's block lately so my stuff hasn't been top shelf and I'm trying to work through it. Also, I really appreciate all of your reviews and comments. It means the world to me and I love every single one of you.

Tate beamed at Violet from across the table, glad that he had been so persistent in getting her to talk to him. He had a feeling that, had he approached this in any other way, she wouldn't have liked him as much. It was the fact that he was different, unique from anyone she had ever known before. It was this level of intensity that he had, the way he looked at her like he'd been around since the beginning of time. His eyes were wise, jaded, like he'd seen everything and it made her wonder what his life had been like. Had he been as troubled as her? She had a feeling that he had. There was just something about him, a certain level of intimidation that made him incredibly sexy.

Suddenly, Violet realized that this was the first time she had applied the word _sexy_ to anyone she actually knew and the realization shocked her.

"So how'd you end up in La La Land?" Tate asked, full of interest.

Violet sighed, remembering Boston and how she had loved it there. She didn't like this new place and she didn't believe she would ever change her mind. "Well, my parents got divorced when I was six. I've lived with my mom ever since. But she…uh…she killed herself last month. She had a miscarriage and I guess she just couldn't handle it. Anyway, I'm supposed to go live with my dad but he wanted me to stay with my cousin for a few days while he got things in order. He wanted to break the news to his wife before I got there, kind of ease her into it. It's bullshit. He has a whole replacement family and everything—like, he had to check with them to make sure it's alright for his only daughter to move in with him when she has nowhere else to go. I mean, what if step-mommy doesn't like me? Then what? He just puts me out on the street? Or he could always pawn me off on my aunt and uncle. I guess he's been preparing her, whatever her name is. I forget. In all honesty, I'd rather stay where I am."

Tate didn't know what to say. It broke his heart to hear that her life had been so troubled, every bit as troubled as his. "My father left too. He ran off with our maid, Moira. They found her dead a couple weeks later. Her body was dumped in some reservoir outside the city. No one knows what happened to Hugo—that was my dad's name. Some people thought he killed her; some people thought he got killed. Others said he ran off to Mexico. It doesn't really matter. It's not as though Constance cared. She'd already started sleeping with daddy-dearest by then. I think she was actually happy when they disappeared. It made things easier. I was nine."

Violet shook her head, annoyance clear on her features. For a moment, Tate wondered if he had said something wrong. But she put his suspicions to rest soon enough.

"I hate people like that. Why do they think they can just do whatever they feel like, treat you however they want like you don't even matter? I'm just glad I'll be eighteen in a year and a half and then I can leave, go back to Boston. And I promise I'll never get married, not after seeing how my parents were. I don't wanna be that way and I especially don't want to put a kid through that. I mean, look at us. We're not exactly model citizens…you in particular, stalker."

She smiled at him, letting him know she was only joking and Tate couldn't help but love the way she looked at him, like he amazed her. He needed that from someone, needed to be loved and admired by someone other than Constance. With his mother, it was abusive. She expected things from him because he was her son—her handsome and talented son—but she only valued him for his appearance, his calming voice and strong body. What he wanted was for someone to want to be with him, simply because they enjoyed his company. He wanted them to see his flaws as something beautiful, something that was a part of who he was. He thought Violet might be able to give him that. She seemed like the type.

"But you've got to admit, I'm pretty good at it…stalking you, I mean. I must have seen just about everything by now."

Violet's eyes grew wide as she thought over his words, smiling at him crookedly. "Not everything."

"Unfortunately, no." Tate needed to though. He needed to know everything about her, every curve of her perfect body, every thought in her head. "Listen, what are you doing tonight? I have this thing to go to with my parents…a party. It's pretty lame. But I think we could make it interesting…cause some trouble. Public humiliation makes for great revenge, you know." Violet giggled uncharacteristically, watching him wink mischievously at her through half-squinting eyes.

"Boy, you're trouble."

"That's what you like about me, isn't it? So what do you say? It'll be fun. I'll be miserable without you. In fact, my happiness now depends on whether or not you say yes."

And she wanted to, so badly. She couldn't think of anything she would rather do than ruin that boy's parent's party solely for their amusement. But she couldn't and she knew she would wish later that she had blown off her responsibilities.

"As much fun as that sounds, I have to go and meet my father tonight. I say meet because I don't really remember him all that well. I'm supposed to move in tonight actually, but we'll see how that goes. Apparently this meeting is formal too. I think he wants to impress his new wife with what a nice young lady his daughter is." Violet couldn't help but snort at that and it was the first time in Tate's life that he had ever found a snort attractive. He could have sworn he was losing his mind. "Anyway, sorry. Wish I could help with the boredom. But, on the bright side, I think this little plan of yours may have succeeded. I might have to start stalking you from now on."

Hi face lit up in a way that he didn't realize it was capable of doing, his heart pounding loudly behind his ears. Violet liked him, a lot. It was all he could have hoped for a more. "Huh. I promise I won't stop you."

"Maybe we could even run into one another on purpose…sans stalking."

"I'd like that."

They looked at each other in silence for a moment until Violet began to feel uncomfortable. He made her feel things and, as much as she would acknowledge she wanted him, she didn't want to have feelings for him. He was just a boy, just another person in her life who would probably disappoint her one day and nothing more. She kept this in mind as she tried to find her bearings, getting to her feet and saying goodbye.

"I gotta go. I had a really great time."

Tate rose to stand next to her, seeming suddenly desperate. He didn't want her to leave him, didn't think he would be able to get through the monotonous night he had laid out ahead of him without some sort of resolution. "When will I see you again?" he asked, handing her the bag which she had flung over the back of her chair when they'd first sat down.

"Probably later tonight," Violet answered. "You will be hiding under my window right? Waiting for me to undress or some Peeping-Tom shit like that?"

Grinning, he shook his head yes. "Naturally, that's what I do, Vi."

No one had ever called her Vi that she could think of. It was always Violet or, as her grandmother had called her, Lettie. She didn't care for her name at all, not until Tate called her Vi. And, for some reason, that single syllable seemed to make her name fit her for the very first time in her life. Smiling like the Cheshire cat, she decided that she would have to see him again sometime very, very soon. "Meet me at the library after school tomorrow, alright. We can run off and get lost somewhere…try not to get arrested. It'll be a blast."

Tate simply nodded. "Okay."

Tate sat in his bedroom, clad entirely in black, feeling like the dress shoes which covered his feet—the only part of him that was dressed appropriately for the occasion—were going to fall off due to oxygen deprivation. He missed his old converse with their ratty soles and well-worn holes. They were practical and they actually allowed his feet to breath.

People had been arriving for fifteen minutes now but he didn't want to go down stairs and face them. It seemed like so much to ask from a boy who could barely cope with his own life let alone the social graces involved with upscale crime. He was expected to say the right thing, behave the right way. Nobody wanted the competition to know what a screw up the boss's kid was, even though he wasn't really Ben's son. In all honesty, Tate was just an out of place loose cannon.

"Tate, darling, you need to come downstairs now. Your Auntie Edna and Uncle James are here to see you!" Constance drawled from the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm not ready yet." he called back, like some silly teenage girl who couldn't get her makeup quite right. The truth was, he wished he could shoot every single one of those people down there and he wasn't being over dramatic. "It's all bullshit." he muttered as he wandered over to the window and looked out at the street below, all lined with dirty foreign cars. He couldn't stand it—the pretentious nature of the whole thing. He was living in the Devil's den and all the murderers were sitting around having tea parties and eating finger foods. It was ridiculous.

"Honey, there's someone here we'd like you to meet. Now please come down stairs!"

Constance wouldn't stop shouting till she got her way. For now, she was being nice, but he knew he'd get a beating for his insolence later. Really, he was too old, but there was no expiration date on fear of a lifelong abuser. In his mother's eyes, he would always be a helpless little boy. And, in some ways, he saw himself that way too.

"Fine!" he yelled from behind his bedroom door, assuring himself that it was better to just get it over with.

So he walked down the hall, rounded the corner, jogged down the stairs into a sea of wealthy, finely dressed people. They were just beginning to intoxicate themselves with the pricey wines and rich champagnes, knowing full well that they would regret it in the morning. Tate had thought about doping himself up for this even too, but he didn't like to do it coke too often. When he did, the voices only got worse and he didn't like himself very much when he listened to them.

He liked the way he felt when he was with Violet. She, at least, made him feel sane.

"Tate, sweetheart, say hello to Edna and James. I don't know why you don't go see them more often. They live just up the street. You should start going every once in a while." Constance crooned, her eyes practically rolling back in her head when Ben ran his arm down her back. She was a horrible, sex-crazed cougar and it made him more than just a little bit ill to watch.

"Hey, guys. Long time, no see, I guess. You're probably lucky though. I'm a pain in the ass to be around."

They all laughed but Tate knew they didn't think it was funny.

"Dear, I know we haven't talked about it but Ben and I would like to tell you something."

"Yes?" Tate questioned, waiting for the undoubtedly bad news that was to follow. What were they up to this time? He ran through at least a dozen scenarios in his head, but he never would have guessed the true secret behind this grandiose announcement.

"Well, you do you remember how much you always hated being an only child when you were younger?" his mother began and he furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Yes. And?"

"Well, oh Lord, I don't know how to say this. I'm just so excited I don't know how to handle myself. Benjamin, why don't you tell our son the good news?"

Ben grinned happily, as though they had just won the lottery and Tate was instantly suspicious. What was all this about and what did it mean for him? He didn't trust his so called _parents_, not for one minute, and he wouldn't be played into submission by means of his mother's absurd mind games.

"Tate," Ben began, smiling and looking all around the room, through the hordes of people. He seemed to be searching for something, yet Tate had no idea what. Finally, his eyes settled on the desired destination somewhere on the other end of the foyer. "You're going to have a new little sister."

For a second, he just stood their silently. Then, still awestruck, he followed Ben's gaze to where he was staring. He couldn't believe what he saw, almost as much as he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Had the whole world gone mad? And, more importantly, what did _she_ have to do with any of this.

"Tate, I would like you to meet my daughter, your new sister, Violet Harmon."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Tate stood awestruck in the middle of the glob of people, all of them laughing happily and drinking their champagne as though there was no tomorrow, as though the entire world hadn't just morphed into something complicated and confusing. For him, it certainly had. New sister? What were they talking about? Was Violet some sort of long lost child or…but he remembered now. She had told him all about her father, Ben, and his new wife and family out in California. He had imagined some bratty little kid brought along with a gold digging old hag. He'd gotten it half right. Constance was a monster.

Never had Violet, in her wildest dreams, ever thought that Tate could have been the boy who Ben Harmon had abandoned her in order to father. Tate was troubled and twisted and dark, like her, and it was impossible to believe that he was the person she had secretly hated all of these years. Since she was quite young, she had imagined what she would say to him if they ever met—that kid who had taken the life that should have been hers, the easy comfortable life with a stable home—but, instead of hating him, Violet simply wanted to sleep with him. What a pleasant surprise…

"Well, this is an interesting turn of events." she mused, stepping forward and offering her hand to him, electing to play along with the whole little charade. They would have to talk later, she thought. Or maybe not talk. Either one was fine with her. "I'm Violet. You must be Tate. I've heard so much about you." In reality, she hadn't. Neither Ben nor Constance had ever mentioned his name, but she had assumed it was something horribly classic, like Jake or Michael. Certainly not a name like Tate…

"Yeah, same here. It's great to finally meet you, _Violet_."

Constance smiled, seemingly pleased with the politeness of the conversation. No one would have ever believed that she'd come from nothing, a real-life mob wife who, as soon as the doors had slammed shut behind her guests, would be a raging and hopelessly violet alcoholic. Here, she was kind and cordial. But Tate knew that was only an act. He knew all too well.

"Well, it's so good to see you two young people being so cordial. It makes me so proud. Go, run along. Get to know each other. I think you'll be great friends if you give one another a chance." But they knew it was more than that. This development was nothing more than a complication on their road to complete and utter abandonment of all inhibitions. The sexual tension between them was undeniable, thrumming in the air around them as the older woman spoke. It wouldn't be long before things had progressed, that Violet was sure of. In fact, that he was now something of a forbidden fruit made the entire thing seem so much more exciting to her. Tate, on the other hand, was a little wary. He knew what would happen if he did something to anger Ben, and he wasn't too eager to step into the line of fire.

"Come on, Tate. You can show me around the place. I heard you had a really nice garden but Constance didn't get a chance to show me."

At that, the lady turned to face her, a comforting smile on her bright red lips. "Oh, dear, you are one of my children now. You can call me Mom, or mother, whichever you prefer."

"I would _prefer_ to call you Constance." Violet sneered and Tate couldn't fight the smile creeping over his lips. As much as he was afraid of his mother, he loved to see this girl burn her. She was fearless, completely unaffected by the dangerous situations that were surrounding her. These were not people to play games with, yet Violet didn't even hesitate. Absently, Tate wondered if she knew, wondered if anyone had told her just what it was that her father did for a living.

"Come on, Violet. Why don't I take you outside and show you the garden. It's really pretty. I think you'll like it."

"Sure." she sneered, staring down the woman who had requested to be called mother. Violet thought that it had taken some nerve to say something like that considering what had just happened to her, but she also knew that she would be expected to conform. People always expected that and Violet always disappointed. It was what she did and she wasn't about to disappoint.

Tate lead her through the foyer, the living room, the kitchen and out to the back porch. A gazebo sat in the center of the yard, a winding trail beginning on the far side of it, weaving in and out of meticulously cared for walls of foliage. It was a surprisingly private place, a little island in the middle of the city of Los Angeles. It was refreshing and Violet was pleasantly surprised, excitement rising in her.

"Wow. This is awesome." she enthused, charging forward over the planks of the newly erected gazebo and on into the maze. "I guess there is an upside to this hell hole. And what's the deal with your mother? I mean, _bitch_ much? The way you described it, I figured she was bad but I didn't realize she was completely crazy. I mean, asking me to…ugh. I could never do that. I don't think I'll even be able to call Ben _dad_, you know. It's just too weird. My mom was my mom but that's it. She's the only parent I've ever had." she shrugged, grabbing his hand and pulling him deeper into the complicated maze with her. He resisted a little, but couldn't really find it within himself to refuse to follow her. In all honesty, he knew he would follow Violet anywhere. "Anyway, I guess you got your way. I came to the stupid party."

Finally, Tate pulled her to a stop, standing face to face with the girl who had captured him imagination and every last drop of his attention. "Are we gonna talk about this or not?"

Feigning ignorance, she replied. "Talk about what?"

"What just happened in there, Vi. I mean, I'm not gonna lie—I love the idea of sneaking behind Ben and Constance's backs. It'd be fun as hell. But there are other issues. If I were to humiliate them…if I were to embarrass Ben or piss him off, I don't know what'll happen. I mean…I don't know what I mean. Just never mind. I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm saying and—"

"Just shut up, Tate." Violet interrupted, grinning slyly up at him. "Why don't you just relax, okay?"

He nodded, swallowing hard as she eased closer and closer to him, pressing her body against his chest, running her small, fragile hands over the fabric of his black shirt. The sensation of her touch made him shiver involuntarily, made his body react in ways that were entirely new to him. Not that he'd never felt attraction or lust before, but he'd never felt it so forcefully. He craved her, had to have her, thought he might combust if he couldn't. Leaning in closer, he inhaled sharply, bringing his hands to rest on her waste, her hips, pulling her even nearer to him.

He thought he might kiss her, that this would be the beginning of what he had wanted all along. And best of all she would always be there, whenever he won a wanted her, just down the hall. He could see her when he needed to, feel her when he needed to. They could have unlimited access to one another just as long as they kept it a secret from Constance and Ben. Tate had begun to paint this picture in his mind, this entire fantasy world of sex and kisses and romance that involved no one but Violet and him. It could all be perfect, or so he thought. So Tate decided to go for it.

But just as his lips were about to come into contact with hers for the very first time, just as he could taste her breath on his mouth, she pulled away.

"Hold up there, big boy. Don't you think you outta take me out on a real date before you seduce your new sister?"

Disappointed, he shook his head. "You're a tease. Of course you're a tease. Just my luck."

She spun around, pulling him along with her further into the garden, her fingertips skimming the soft flower petals as she went. "No, I'm not a tease." She whispered, her hand warm in his. He didn't believe her. She was too pure, despite all of her bravado. But he liked that about her, liked that he could be the one to take her that extra step further. "I just don't want you to think you can use me, Tate, darling."

She smiled and it made him laugh. He'd used a lot of people in his time, but he didn't think that Violet would be one of them. If anything, she would be using him. And he would let her. He wouldn't even complain. She could have him in whatever way she desired. She could abuse him if she wanted to, so long as he could have her. That was all that was important.

"Sometimes it's nice to be used…not that I would use you." he told her, winking and grasping her hand a little tighter, taking the lead and pulling her this way and that through the maze, now lined with rose bushes.

"Do I want to be used by you?"

Tate smiled, knowing the answer full well. If he were to use her, she would enjoy it. He would make sure of that. But, as he saw it, he could do so much more. "I _know_ you do."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Violet went home later that night. She was moving in the next day, as Ben had insisted that they weren't prepared for company—as though his own daughter living with him was the same as having grandma in the house for the holidays. This had made Tate kind of angry, in fact, and more than just a little disappointed. He had hoped to have more time with her, to be able to talk to her, learn more about her, stay up all night with her. Just that evening, he'd learned that she loved Morrissey and the Kinks, and that she preferred never ever to admit that she was wrong, but he had guessed that. He told her how he loved Nirvana, as though she hadn't known that the moment she laid eyes on him, and about the true origins of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit.' "He thought it had a political meaning when his friend spray painted on his apartment wall that he smelled like teen spirit when in actuality she was talking about the deodorant his girlfriend wore." he'd said and Violet had rolled her eyes, insisting that all men think they're brilliant when, most of the time, they're pretty shallow.

Now, Tate was fantasizing about her, even as he sat in Ben's office waiting for him to come in and give him some sort of lecture. It was a preparatory conversation, just to make sure he knew what to say and do when Violet was around. He was sure Ben wouldn't want her involved in his business, at least not until he knew that he could trust her enough to let things slip. She was an outsider and that was very, very dangerous.

Ben Harmon walked through the double doors and took a seat in the chair across from where Tate lounged on the sofa. His posture was perfect—a striking contrast to the teenager's slumping form. "Sit up straight." his mother would tell him. "You have so many gifts, Tate. Don't waste them." But he never listened and he didn't intend to start anytime soon. He hated her, wanted nothing to do with her, so he certainly wouldn't be taking any of her advice.

"Good evening, Tate."

"Good evening, sir." he replied, feigning respect. In all honesty, despite what Ben had given him in these last few years Tate couldn't bring himself to respect him. He was disgusting, degrading, the worst kind of man and, above all, he was the end all to end all of chauvinists.

"It seemed that you and Violet got along well tonight. You seemed quite friendly." Tate nodded. For a moment, he worried that Ben had caught wind of their flirtations, but he quickly pushed those worries aside as the man continued to talk. "I'm glad. She needs someone to take care of her, someone older to watch after her. I've talked to a lot of the people who were in her life back in Boston—after I left—and they all said the same thing. That's why I wanted to talk to you tonight, Tate."

Eyes shifting from side to side, Tate clasped his hands together in his lap and sighed. "What? What did they tell you?" He was sure he already knew the answer. Violet was no cake walk. She was a rebel and a trouble maker and Ben thought that he was going to hire him as a babysitter. That was all fine and well, he supposed, but he wouldn't be a very good chaperone if that was what her father was looking for. In fact, he was hoping to become her newest form of bad behavior.

"Violet gets good grades, but she gets into a lot of fights in school. Actually, she's already had some trouble here. I don't like people thinking they can take advantage of my daughter's frailty."

"With all due respect, she can handle herself, sir." Tate said it, and even though he knew it was true there was a part of him that agreed with Ben on this. He felt protective of her and there was nothing he could do to stop it. There was no doubt in his mind that, if he ever saw her hurt again, he wouldn't hesitate to retaliate against the offender, even if he had to force Violet to tell him who that person was. She needed to be respected, treated well, and he would make sure of that.

"Regardless," Ben continued. "as her brother, it is your job now to make sure nothing bad happens to her. I worry, Tate, and I don't want to have to worry. Understand?" And Tate nodded. He didn't really have a choice. "Alright. Then there are other things, behavioral issues, that need to be discussed." He had known all along that it was coming. Fights couldn't be that girl's only issue. She was a troubled soul and it made him feel more drawn to her then he did to others. Her scars matched his and it made him feel fuller, more complete, less alone. "She has been known to self-harm. Personally, I think that's bullshit and I won't tolerate it. Got it?" Tate tugged self-consciously at the ends of his sleeve, feeling the scars and scabs practically burning him with their mere presence. "She smokes. Her mother tried to get her to quite. She tried everything from what I hear, but she wasn't sure she ever stopped. I don't know, but I don't want any of that either. I won't be having attention drawn to the family because of some minor infraction like under-aged tobacco smoking. And drinking. She's been known to drink, I guess. The list goes on and on. She's trouble, Tate. That's why I felt I needed time to prepare. I can't take risks and she is a big one. She'd emotional, unpredictable. It's all in her file—criminal and medical. She suffers from depression. They considered diagnosing her with bpd but she quit therapy. Maybe that's why Vivien did it. Maybe she offed herself because she couldn't handle our daughter. It sounds like her."

Tate glared daggers at the man from across the room. He didn't like the implications of this man—the one person who was supposed to love Violet—laying the blame for her mother's death at her feet. Suicide was a funny thing. There was no one reason for it. Tate, of all people, could understand that. Homicidal, suicidal…he'd seen it all and none of it ever made any sense from the outside looking in. It was entirely too complicated, too multi-faceted and complex to be dissected by anyone other than the one experiencing it.

"The point is, Tate," Ben went on, a tight smile spreading across his lips. "you're a mature young man and, as a part of this family, I think it's time for you to assume some responsibility as a member of the Harmon clan. I want you to take over for me one day and you've gotta start somewhere. So all I'm asking is that you keep Violet in line. Make sure she does as she's told. This is very important. You don't even understand how important this is—to your mother and I both. Our marriage is still young, you know. We can't afford to give up the romance to take care of a delinquent, not now. Constance is difficult enough as it is."

Tate wanted to roll his eyes but he couldn't. It seemed that Ben had been in his life for too long a time. They weren't in the honeymoon stage no matter how badly they wanted to pretend they were—just as he and Violet were only friends, no matter how badly he wished that they were more. They weren't there yet and she wouldn't let him take what he wanted without some effort. He loved her for that, but he also hated it.

A voice, however, interrupted his musings and he was forced to look up into Ben's big brown eyes—the very same eyes as Violet's he realized with a chill. "Can you do what I need you to do?"

"What do you need me to do exactly…specifically, I mean."

Ben nodded, leaning forward and getting to his feet. This conversation was almost over. He'd gotten what he wanted and he was ready to move on to the next project. "Follow her around. Don't leave her side. I want eyes and ears on her at all times so don't you dare disappoint me. When you go out, take her with you, but please don't involve her in any shenanigans. If you do, there will be consequences. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Tate answered, swallowing hard. All he ever thought about was the shenanigans he could enjoy with Violet.

"My daughter," Ben went on and Tate hated the way he said it. "is only fifteen years old. You're eighteen—almost nineteen—years old, an adult, and I expect more out of you. I want you to treat her just like the little sister you never had. I want to you to defend her…uh, virtue…whatever's left of it, that is. I won't have any little sluts in my family." Then he shouldn't have married Constance, Tate thought but kept his mouth shut about his mother's countless indiscretions and conquests. "She's not a virgin, I don't think. It would seem that she's had quite a few boyfriends in her short life and I want you to make sure she doesn't have any more, not without me meeting them first. When you date a Harmon, you date the whole family. There's a certain level of secrecy that comes with it. And, to be honest, she'd my little girl. The idea of some stupid, horny teenage boy crawling all over her makes me sick. I swear, I mean it when I say I'll kill the bastard…or just have someone do it for me. I don't like that idea. I don't like it at all."

Swallowing harder than before, Tate relied. "I understand, sir. I'll get right on that. I promise, not a bit of trouble will come from either one of us." But he didn't mean it. He couldn't be good. He'd tried to before and had failed. In the end, he had come to the conclusion that it wasn't in his nature to behave. He liked being bad, liked the rush and the fear of being caught. He was hotheaded and buried deep in his thoughts, his logic practically crushed underneath the sheer weight of his thinking patterns. And he wanted Violet more than he had ever wanted anything before. But was it worth his head to get what he wanted? More importantly, the question was whether or not he could control himself. Did he even have a say in what he did or would his body be doing all of this thinking for him. For once, he wished he didn't have a dick.

"Go ahead to bed." Ben instructed and he quickly complied, stripping out of his clothing after entering his room and closing and locking the door behind him. This was going to be a problem and Tate had no idea how he would handle it. Could he spend all of his time with Violet and not have her—never feel her body and know its curves and crevices the way that he wanted to? The sexual frustration was too much now and it would only get worse. She was like a drug, like some amazing miracle that he dreamed of experiencing. She was everything that he had ever wanted in a girl, right before his very eyes and just waiting for him to reach out and take her. She would have him gladly, Tate was sure. It was her father that he worried about.

He knew he had to give up hope. He didn't doubt that Ben would kill him for breaking his rules; he had done it before for far more minor infractions than fucking his fifteen-year-old daughter. She was mysterious and sexy and torturous but he would have to figure out a way to control himself. Ultimately, he decided to distance himself from Violet, to watch her from a distance just to make sure she didn't get into any questionable situations. It was the logical solution, the smart solution. But Violet must have sensed it, sensed that he was about to give up the idea of being with her, because just as he thought he had made up his mind there was the sound of his phone vibrating in his pocket.

When he flipped in open, he saw that it was a message from an unknown sender, but he opened it anyway, clicking the image download link against his better judgment. And piece by piece, there appeared a grainy picture of Violet obviously taken with her camera phone. She was grinning at him crookedly, her coy smile making his twitch. It turned him on, but it was the rest of the photo that made up his mind. She was topless, a baggy pair of sweatpants hanging loosely on her hips, her hair in an absolute mess around her face. The caption read: _just a little incentive (or _incest_ive lol)_.

That was when Tate knew that he would never be able to see her as just his quirky, troubled little sister.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

When Violet thought about what she had done after leaving him that night, she couldn't believe it. She didn't know what she had been thinking, but it had made sense at the time and she couldn't even say that she regretted it. But as the car drew closer and closer to the Harmon's house Violet began to lose her confidence. She had been so sure yesterday, so sure that he had been interested in her, that there was something special between them. Yet she had only really talked to Tate on three occasions. How could she know? How could she have any idea what he was thinking?

The car came to a stop in the driveway of the rather large, Victorian mansion and her uncle stepped out, retrieving a few boxes from the trunk of the car and carrying them inside the house. Ben had prepared for her, obviously, but he hadn't stayed home to help her settle in. Instead, he had left that to the household help.

"Moira, are you sure you can lift these things. You're getting along in age, you know? We all worry about you." she heard her uncle say as he patted the old, red-haired lady on the back. One of her eyes was lighter than the other, a deformity that Violet automatically took notice of. She found it a little more than horrifying that her father had left the little old house maid to help her move into that oversized home of his, but it didn't surprise her. He didn't seem to be the familial type.

"I got it. Don't worry." Violet said, struggling with the boxes. She wasn't very strong and it was a difficult task for her, but she tried to manage anyhow. She didn't like people doing things for her, didn't like to be babied, and somehow she knew that Ben was going to step on her toes. Her independence was flying out the door too fast and it wasn't making her happy. At the very least, she could hope that Ben would be at work a lot; somehow, she guessed he would be. She didn't know just what exactly he was involved in but he was a seedy character. It made her wonder what her mother had seen in the man, what had been so special about him that his absence drove her mad. Vivien had killed herself with him in mind and Violet was certain that she would never understand.

Thinking about that night sent shivers down her spine. She tried never to think about it, never to let the images of what her mother had done seep into her brain. Of course, they were always there, lurking around the recesses of her mind and threatening to send her into another down spiral. Violet had grieved, but long before her mother's suicide. She'd known it was coming for a long time—practically her whole life—and she'd dealt with the pain of that in her own way. Glancing down at her wrist she thought about the scars hidden beneath the layers of t-shirt fabric, how each one represented a separate incident, an entirely unique trauma that had slowly tore Violet to pieces. She was not whole. She was not the person she had once been: the innocent child that Ben and Vivien had selfishly brought into this world. But she was stronger than she should be and that was something she was grateful for. Her resilience, her ability to endure whatever was thrown her way, was the only reason that she hadn't joined her mother in her suicidal tendencies. Violet had never tried to kill herself—not for real.

As she round the staircase, stepping onto the final step, she began to feel the boxes teetering, forcing her to lose her balance. She thought she would fall and immediately began to curse her klutzy nature. But just as she felt her body beginning to tip backwards she felt strong, warm arms wrap around her, steadying her and lifting her meager form up into the hallway.

"You really should be more careful, Vi. You're like a public hazard."

It was him and, for a moment, she didn't know what to say. He'd called her by that name again and it made her want to smile, only she was far too embarrassed for that. "I am not! It's not my fault that Daddy Dearest tried to pawn the box lugging off on that senile old bat down there."

Tate's eyes flashed to hers and they were bloodshot, empty. She wondered what he'd been doing up until then, what sort of trouble he had gotten himself into. She had caught wind of a rumor that he was a coke head but she hadn't staked much trust on that. Now however, as she stared at his blank, pallid face, observing the way his body seemed to be drawn so taunt, his nose red as though he had a bad cold…he was wired and it made her reconsider. She had troubled, but was Tate too much for her to handle. She had seen the toll that drugs and alcohol and abuse and depression took on a person and she wasn't sure if she could watch it happen all over again. This sort of behavior was an endless cycle, she knew, and she doubted that she would make it out unscathed. Violet drank more than she should, smoked like a chimney, had a few too many boyfriends though none of them ever made it very far with her. What everyone said about the damaged orphan teenager was true, yet it still hurt. Was that how Tate felt?

"Sorry. I—I just feel a little out of it." he sniffed, rubbing a hand over his face and Violet knew. "Seriously, I'm really sorry. I had a rough night, not that that makes anything any better."

She nodded, taking the boxes down the hall and leaving her confusing new "brother" behind her. She didn't know what to make of things. Just the night before things had seemed so different. He had been so eager, so excited, so wanton. But now it seemed that Tate was having second thoughts and Violet wouldn't push herself on him.

"Hold up, Vi." he called suddenly, bursting through the door of the room that would be hers. She only knew because her uncle had told her before she had even arrived. She wasn't allowed to go into any of the bedrooms aside from that one and the rule annoyed her. She felt like she was going to live in a prison and things would only get bleaker from here on out. "Listen, Violet, about last night…I don't know. We need to talk."

The words made her more than a little angry and she turned on him quickly. He was no longer that sweet blonde boy with the innocent face. He was someone who had made a fool out of her and she promised herself she would hate him. She had thought she did, after all, since she was only a little girl. "It was a mistake, handsome, alright? I'm not interested in you so back off. You're the one stalking me, remember?" Her hands dove furiously into the boxes, tossing things onto the bed and shoving things recklessly into drawers. She knew that she would probably have to reorganize all of this later but she was too mad to sit still.

"No, no, no, that's not what—"

"I'm not one of your little Valley whores, Tate, and don't you ever even think I am! So you can just take your big, fat ego and shove it right up you a—"

"Damn it! Would you listen to me for one fucking second?" The tone in his voice as he screamed made her silent. She didn't think she had ever been so intimidated by anyone in her whole life, the way his eyes flashed with danger, the way his posture shifted. It suddenly occurred to her that Tate was the wrong guy to mess with. Her instincts told her to let it go, but she was Violet Harmon and everyone knew the truth: that she had never, ever been able to let anything go in her life. "God, you're over reacting, Violet! All I wanted to tell you is that we have to be careful…really fucking careful, okay? Ben threatened me. I can't be seen _involved_ with you." The word carried a heavier connotation than usual, as though _involved_ meant something deeper than it typically would when spoken from Tate's lips. "This isn't a game. These are very dangerous people we're up against, Vi, and I don't want to see anyone get hurt. I especially don't want Ben to have his little flunkies chop my balls off, so if you would please just be a little secretive."

She raised her left eyebrow inquisitively. "For the sake of your balls?" Tate nodded and it made Violet snort sarcastically. "Heh. Well, I think I'll take my chances. You have too many balls as it is."

She'd pushed him over the edge and she'd done it on purpose. It was something that she enjoyed and she couldn't seem to help herself. Tate felt his hands clutching at the fabric of her dress, his fingers entwining in her long, dirty blonde hair. Her face was just inches from his and he liked the closeness, yet the feelings bellied in the pit of his stomach did not stifle his anger. He was seething and Violet might have been afraid. But she had been in too many fights, endure far too much abuse for this to bother her. If he hurt her, she would heal. If he killed her—which she didn't believe he would—it would simply be her time to die. It was that simple.

"What is wrong with you? You're…" he struggled with his words, nose to nose with the girl who he had so readily become obsessed with. It wasn't a healthy preoccupation but what did he care? Like any other addictive substance, the high seemed to justify all the side effects. "You're the most infuriating person, like I can't figure you out. I can't…"

"You can't control me?" Violet hissed, the question hanging in the air around them. To a certain point, she had read him correctly, but it was more than that.

"I want you." He answered back, drawing her body closer. She knew she would have bruises tomorrow from where his hands grabbed roughly at her flesh but she couldn't bring herself to care. She liked the way it felt, liked the way his painful touch made this little conflict seem all the more erotic. "I want you and I can't just have you. It's complicated and I'm gonna fucking die because I want you too much."

"And what makes you think you'll have me?" she asked, her eyes furious again. She knew it was irrational, that she had practically handed her heart and her virginity to the boy on a silver platter but the presumptuous nature of his tone still agitated her.

"I _know_ I will."

"_Pig!_ You smug little bastard…I hate you. I swear to God I hate you. I hope he does cut your balls off you miserable—"

But she couldn't continue, partially because her point was abruptly moot, but mainly because his mouth had trapped hers and they were now in a frenzied state, pushing and pulling at one another until, somehow, Violet ended up pinned against the bedroom door, her hands restrained in his strong grip. She couldn't move but she didn't want to. For once, she didn't want to be in control and she finally realized why none of those other boys had ever done anything for her. They were weak and passive. They didn't take what they wanted, not like Tate did. The way he dominated her body, the way he showed her which way he wanted her to go, how he wanted her to move against him—it was all incredibly sexy. Surprisingly, despite her stubborn tendencies, she liked it. He knew what she wanted, what she needed, and she hadn't uttered a word of instruction. It was as though he was her exact match, his hands molding to her body as though they were meant to be there, his tongue sliding against hers until it felt as though they were one person.

Now, they both knew how things would turn out. There was no question.

Pulling away, Tate looked deep into Violet's soft brown eyes, loving the lust that filled them and the fact that it was for him. He had been right to follow her all that time, to force his way into her life. She was headstrong and hard to convince, but Tate had figured out how to make her see reason. He had showed her what he had seen all along—_they were perfect for each other_.

"Tate, Violet! We're home!" And just like that their whole lovely bubble was burst into a million pieces.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

When the two teenagers walked into the kitchen, hoping to go that their faces had returned to a normal shade of pink, Ben and Constance were smiling over couple of bags of hardware supplies and Chinese takeout. This was something that Tate was used to—their little family projects that never seemed to turn out quite right. Usually, it would begin with Constance deciding she didn't like something and from there it would always snowball into another remodel. Ben would want to please her and Constance would have no trouble pushing him to the absolute limit. IT was just a part of who she was and, to a certain point, Tate understood it. He did the same thing, pushing and conniving until he got what he wanted. But he used manipulation, not sheer force, not like Constance. No, he was much more like Ben than he would ever want to admit.

Violet stood beside him now and he was hyper aware of her proximity, even more so than usual. She was so near, her warmth radiating off her body and affecting his in ways that he hadn't believed possible. Just knowing she was there, knowing he could reach out and touch her, do whatever he pleased with her, at that very moment had him going mad. He might have been bold enough to do it, to put his hands on her right then and there, but something inside him reminded him that he might die if he did.

"Hello there, you two. I see Violet's all settled in. Well, isn't that just lovely. And you two are getting along alright? No trouble, I presume?"

If Tate didn't know better, if he hadn't already seen for himself how self-absorbed and blinded his mother was when it came to keeping tabs on his activities, he may have believed she knew something. But that was impossible, entirely unlike her. She never smelled a rat until it was right under her nose, running up her pant leg about to ambush her simply because she never believed that she needed to worry. He was her perfect boy, after all, and for whatever misguided reason she trusted him despite the fact that he had never lived up to her expectations. It was his sweet face, his friendly smile that had her fooled. And she believed because she wanted to, wanted to convince herself that there was no darkness behind those terribly dark doe eyes.

"I guess I won't kill him…yet." Violet scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and smirking the way she did, like she had a secret she would never tell. It made her happy to trick people, to deceive them. Tate could practically taste the sense of accomplishment in the air.

"Heh, just give me time. I'll get under your skin eventually." _And maybe a few other places_, he thought, pushing his limits dangerously. If he didn't stop thinking about Violet that way he knew he was going to give them away. But he couldn't help himself, not when he could feel her perched gracefully beside him.

Violet was a good liar. She didn't get nervous. She didn't flinch. She enjoyed the game, the thrill of being caught exciting her to the point of insanity. It was the best high in the world and she wouldn't have traded it for anything. Tate, on the other hand, enjoyed it less. He liked to make people squirm, loved to get what he wanted. But he hated to keep a secret. As he stood there, the paranoia was sinking in, making him edgy and unnatural and Violet knew she needed to get him out of there before he spilled the beans.

"Hey, Dad," she began, knowing that he would be more likely to agree readily if she used the pet name. "Tate offered to drop me by a friend's house for me to stay the night. Would that be alright. He said he was going out anyway and I didn't think it would be a bother. I mean, you're clearly busy. So would that be alright?"

For a moment, all Ben did was look between the two kids, turning the idea over and over in his mind. He knew Tate never liked to be at home but would his daughter be the same? Would she run off at a moment's notice, not to be heard from for days? More importantly, would he allow that?

"Who's your friend?"

_Oh, shit_. "Leah…she and I have lunch together on Mondays and she helps me with my homework. We were actually going to work on a science project tonight. It's not due until Monday but I wanted to get a head start and Leah could really help me out." In reality, Leah was the girl who beat her up every Monday during lunch. They were not friends and Violet certainly didn't need her help with school work but the lie rolled off of her tongue with ease.

Ben paused, then nodded. "Well, I guess that's fine. Where are you off to, Tate?"

That was when Violet began to worry. Could he pull their cover-story off as well as she had? She surely hoped so. "Ah, I'm just gonna go hang with the guys. Trevor and everyone is hitching a bus to Vegas for this big party his uncle's throwing. I thought we weren't going 'till next week but I messed up the dates." He had been going to Vegas next week but now Tate had the sneaking suspicion that he would be making more appealing plans. He'd always hated Trevor anyway. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. I can even swing by Violet's friend's house and bring her back with me if you want."

"That would be wonderful, Tate!" Constance crooned, placing her wrinkled hand on his cheek. He hated the sensation of her skin on his, but he tolerated it, forcing a smile onto his face. "See, that's the sort of kindness I keep telling you about. With all your…beautiful gifts, gestures like that bring so much light to this dark world. And that smile…my sweet boy."

Ben stood warily in the background, grinning tightly. He wasn't sure how to be a parent, wasn't sure how to manage his young daughter's life. But studying couldn't be bad, could it? And Tate would make sure she was where she was supposed to be, making sure she didn't get into any trouble. Violet's ways needed to be changed and he figured studying was just as good a place to start as any. "Alright, kids, go have fun. You keep an eye out for my little girl, you hear, Tate?"

It was cliché, but he said it anyhow. "Yes, sir. See you tomorrow."

And just like that, their impromptu plan was hatched and carried out. They would have the entire night to do whatever they wanted to, to go wild and abandon all their responsibilities. Tate was the good older brother and Violet was the sweet little sister. They were looking out for one another, going to a party with friends and doing a science project with an arch nemesis.

So what if they screwed in the backseat of Tate's mustang?


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Violet looked at Tate out of the corner of her eye as they drove silently down the main road into the downtown area. This had all been her idea, to sneak away with this dangerously strange boy right under her father's nose. Maybe it had been the feelings still swirling around her from their kiss, the sexual tension in the air surrounding her when she had come up with the idea. His hands on her body, his lips against hers, had all excited her in a way that she had never felt before. Tate was different. He was thrilling and unpredictable. The way he forced his way past obstacles, how he took what he wanted in one way or another, the determination he had that he would win in the end, was incredibly sexy. But now that she was alone with him with time to waste, the freedom was making her uneasy. She didn't know how to act, what to do. She had put pressure on herself unintentionally, but now it was too late.

"So where do you wanna go?" Tate asked, sneaking a peek at Violet then looking back at the road.

"I don't know. You're the one who lives around here. What is there to do in tinsel town?"

Tate smirked at her, thinking long and hard about where they should go. They had all night. They could go as far as they wanted, but where? "Hmm…let me think for a sec. We'd better leave the Los Angeles area. The last thing we need is for one of Ben's guys to see us messing around down here…" Violet raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, though she knew that it was likely they would be _messing around_. "That's not what I meant. I mean, if we're gonna be running around town together we don't want anyone seeing us. How do you feel about clubs?"

"Like, music clubs?" she asked, feeling a little bit more than excited by the idea.

"Yeah. There's this great little band doing a show about an hour and a half from here…good, classic punk stuff. I think you'd really like it."

"Cause you know what kind of taste I have in music?"

It was pretty obvious. "Yeah, I do. It's not hard to tell. The first time I ever saw you, you were wearing a Kinks t-shirt…and you have headphones with those Nirvana smiley faces on them…don't think I didn't notice that. It's one of the reasons I liked you so much." And he flashed her such an innocently warm smile that it melted her black, stone cold heart. "Didn't you have some Chili Peppers tapes in those boxes of yours too? Some Pink Floyd…Hole…Santana."

"Unbelievable." Violet muttered, shaking her head from side to side. "Aren't you observant? You know, just because I let you kiss me doesn't mean I don't still think you're a creepy stalker."

He mumbled back, "I'm not a stalker."

"Face it, Tate; you are completely and hopelessly obsessed with me. Who wouldn't be. I mean, look at me."

She laughed but Tate didn't. He only nodded in agreement because, in all honesty, that was how he felt about her. She was beautiful and wild and unlike anyone he had ever met before. She was a whole other breed of girl and Tate didn't think he would ever be able to be with an average person again. He needed her, craved her, and everyone else seemed to pale in comparison. They were all dull and lifeless and dumb. Violet had surpassed them all with her wise eyes and sly grin, her sarcasm and her manipulative wit. She outsmarted everyone, even more skillfully than Tate did. She was perfect.

"So you want to go to the show then? I think you'd really like it. It might be a little rough around the edges but I figure you can handle it."

"You bet I can." she remarked, nodding. "Yeah, let's do that. Is there a place we could stay the night?"

"Well, we could sleep in the car or we could get a motel room. Like I said, it might be a little rough but I think you can handle it."

"…a bed would be nice. This car is kind of small to sleep in."

"It's not near as bad when your smashed." Tate laughed, running a hand through his long, shaggy mess of blonde hair. "That's how I usually end up crashing in the 'Stang."

"We might just have to get smashed then." Violet chuckled, shrugging her shoulders and pushing her seat back. "But I'm just gonna let you know right now that I am a very trusting drunk and expect not to be taken advantage of. Can I trust you with that?" Violet asked, gaining confidence. She didn't want to be the nervous virgin. She wanted to be her brave, outgoing, sarcastic self.

Looking at her sideways again, Tate thought. Could he really promise her that? Would it be honest? In all truth, he didn't know if he would be able to control himself if Violet made advances towards him, inebriated or not. From the corner of his eye he watched her as she played with the hem of her sweater, picking at the stray strands of yarn along the edges. Her face was so soft, so angelic, her features soft and pale. The way her lips turned up at the corners, so soft and pink that Tate couldn't help but think of what it had felt like to kiss them. He had been so caught up in the moment that he hadn't been able to savor the sensation and he wished that he had.

It was a long and silent drive. They didn't talk. Instead, they listened to the radio and watched as the road out of LA unfolded before them and before they knew it the smog and confusion of the big city had evolved into shorter buildings and narrower streets in a small, slummy town not too far away. It reminded Violet of the sorts of places she would go with her friends back in Boston. She'd taken part in any number of shenanigans then and she missed it. She missed the thrill of the unknown, the danger in the risky situations which she involved herself with. She needed the passion, the feeling of living on the edge and, more than anything, she needed someone who appreciated that about her.

They parked the Mustang in a back alley and made their way to a door in the side of a squatty brick complex. Taking hold of Violet's tiny hand, Tate led her through it, placing his other hand over the small of her back as they became immersed in the thick crowd of the club. The air was hot and it was loud. She said something but he couldn't hear her, yet she was smiling and nodding her head with the music. At least, she was enjoying herself. But he had known she would all along.

"It's great, isn't it?" he shouted over the pounding base of a drum solo. "I found this place a couple years ago. My friend from Nevada brought me here for my birthday. I think it's my favorite place in the world…sure beats places in LA. This is small and intimate and…I don't know, there's something raw about it. Plus Ben's flunkies haven't found me here yet. He likes to keep tabs on me, though he doesn't care much what I do as long as I don't stick my nose where it doesn't belong. I don't like it anyhow though. It's an invasion of privacy. I can't stand it."

Violet nodded, leaning in closer so that she could hear him better. "I see." she said, looking from Tate's deep, dark eyes and back to the stage.

"Now he has me looking after you like you're a preschooler and…ugh, I just don't like it. Makes me wonder how many of my friends stick around 'cause Ben tells them to."

"What?" Suddenly, she couldn't hear him too well. The music had reached its climax and the noise was nearly defening.

"I said that—"

"No, hold on a second. I still can't hear you." And with that the girl hauled him off towards the hallway to the bathroom. Once they'd gotten there, Tate propped himself against a wall. "Violet, I said…"

But she shook her head. "Still can't hear." Violet stood up on her toes, her face less than an inch from his. She listened closely, but it was hard to concentrate with him so close her. She could feel his warmth beside her tors, warming her and bringing color to her pallid cheeks. She hated that she was so easily affected by this boy but she couldn't help herself. There was just this strange attraction between them that she couldn't seem to fight.

"I said that Ben expects me to chaperone you and it makes me a little nuts. I don't want to be your chaperone."

Something in his tone made her pause and look up at him, staring into those almost-black pupils as they penetrated her. He was so intense that it made her a little uncomfortable yet she couldn't look away. She was transfixed by him, excited by their proximity.

"What do you want to be to me?" Violet questioned, her hand absentmindedly running up his chest, making him shiver.

"What do you want me to want to be to you?" he asked her back, biting him lip and chuckling slyly to himself. Violet tried to pull away from him but he wouldn't let her. He wanted an answer to his question. "Tell me. What do you want?"

Licking her lips, she replied, "That's not the question. The question is, can you give it to me?"

"Oh, baby, trust me. That won't be a problem."

His lips crashed against hers then and the weight of her small body pinned him to the wall. He palmed and cupped and grabbed at her body, appreciating every petite facet of her form. It was like a wild fire, like gasoline to a flame and they were both now on a collision course, ready to explode.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Author's Note: I know I haven't updated in a while but things have been kind of crazy lately. In the middle of applying for college and stuff so be patient with me. Haha Anywhosey, here's the next chapter. R&R

The two stepsiblings stood in the hall of the night club, kissing passionately and clawing greedily at each other's flesh. Violet wasn't sure what she was doing, why she was allowing herself to be so willingly manipulated by this boy who she hardly knew. She didn't understand the feelings inside her, the adrenalin coursing through her veins. Maybe it was the way he made her feel when his hands ran up the length of her slim torso, the way he tugged roughly on the fabric of her dress and he wrapped his fingers around her waist. She craved him and like everything else in her life she believed that, if she truly wanted him, she would find a way to have him.

Tate almost couldn't believe her eagerness. The way she pressed her body into his, so warm and soft against his youthfully muscled form, made him mad with desire. She was everything he had ever hoped that she would be and, for the moment, she was his. Ethics be damned, he would have this girl just as he had fantasized, even if it killed him and that was a relatively likely outcome considering Ben's warnings. His job was to keep Violet out of trouble, keep her pure and conventionally boring but he hadn't listened. Instead, he'd taken her out of the city, into a seedy town filled with drugs and alcohol. He would fill her evening with music and sex and the smell of midnight dives. Ben would dispatch him without a second thought if he knew and Tate would be nothing more than another missing person's file at the local police department. Constance would mourn his loss and Ben would console her but he would be forgotten soon enough.

It didn't matter at the moment. Tate felt her tongue run along his lips and heard a desperate noise ripping from deep in his throat. He took her hand and pulled her towards the exit, snatching up a few drinks from the bartender as he went and laying a couple of bills on the counter.

"Let's get out of here." He suggested, throwing back the shot and putting the second one into Violet's delicate hand.

She thought for a moment, went over the idea of what she was about to do in her mind. If she let him have her, if she gave herself to him as she wanted to, would she regret it in the morning? Would it mean anything after it was all said and done? Something told her that it wouldn't, that he had done this plenty of times before—taken a girl out in that shiny mustang of his and taken just what he wanted. Violet was simply another girl, she thought, and there was no way of knowing if she was right or not. She was already there and it was too late to back out and go home. Violet knew that much. In the end, she decided she was going to need that drink very, very badly.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" she said, putting the shot glass to her lips and tossing her head back. "What do I have to lose?" Only her virginity, her virtue, but that didn't seem to be worth much. Violet had never been afraid of anything so why should this be any different. She was strong and brave. She wasn't frightened of being impulsive and she wouldn't let Tate see her any differently.

"I should think you have plenty to lose." Tate mumbled but she didn't hear him. To grabbed her hand securely in his and tugged her through the remainder of the thick crowd and out the rear door. It was dark and a little breezy outside but they were soon back within the warmth of the mustang parked around the corner.  
"Where do you wanna go?" Tate asked, consumed by both guilt and frustration. He looked beside him and watched with some difficulty as Violet caught her sweet, pink lip between her teeth. She wasn't certain of what she wanted and he wasn't sure he could push her. "I can take you home, you know. We can make up some bullshit excuse about you getting in a fight with your 'friend' or something. I just don't want you to do something you'll regret. If I'm making you feel uncomfortable…I don't know. You're not like me, Violet. You're not like all of these girls who—do you get what I'm saying or am I being a complete dumb ass? I shouldn't have kissed you, Vi, I'm sorry. I really am, I just—"

"You can stop talking now, Tate. I don't want to go home."

"You don't?" he asked, feeling his ego inflate once more. He had doubted her ability to go through with their plans for the evening but she had decided to live them out.

"No, I don't."

There was silence between them as Tate revved the engine and pulled out onto the main street of the small, shabby town. They hadn't said a word about what would happen once they were inside the motel room which Tate was about to rent for the evening. It wasn't glamorous, that was for certain and he hated that this would be their first night together but what else could Tate do? They needed to be discreet, secretive, and this was the best way to accomplish that. They were far from home and in a place where none of their enemies would ever see them. Whatever happened tonight would just be between Violet and Tate.

They paid and got their room key from the front desk then headed towards the room at the very end of a long line of ramshackle holdups. Tate walked beside her, feeling her warmth and wondering once more what she would feel like under the weight of his body, how soft her bare skin would be against his own, the way her unclothed body might look, the way her muscles might tense in response to him. He knew she was nervous, but he was too. Normally, this would mean nothing—just a night in a motel room filling whatever void it was that cried for attention and affection and then it would be over. He would feel empty in the morning, his head undoubtedly throbbing from the remnants of his drunken stupor. But with Violet it was different. She wasn't the same as the others and he didn't think he would ever be able to live his life the way that he had before. There wouldn't be any more loose girls or fuzzy, quickly forgotten nights, if only she would love him the way he wished that she would. If she would let him be what she needed, he would never leave her.

The door shut behind them and Tate felt the weight of his decisions heavy on his shoulders. Violet cleared her throat, much closer to his ear than he had originally expected. When he turned to follow her gaze, he saw that she was fixated on the large, rumpled bed in the center of the room.

"I…uh, I never did this before." Violet mumbled, gathering herself as she cleared her throat. She could hear the sound of springs squeaking in the room beside theirs and it made her swallow hard. Would it hurt to do what those people who neighbored them were doing? Did she even have the nerve to go through with it?

"Just because I brought you here…that doesn't mean we have to…you know. I mean, I haven't been stalking you for too long. I can wait a while longer." Tate's mouth twisted into a crooked smile and it reminded Violet of why she was there with him, the way her stomach tightened whenever he looked at her that way. She pretended to be indifferent to all of this—his advances and their flirtations, the dangers that they posed—but the truth was that she hadn't been able to think of much aside from him since they had first spent time together. "I guess this was kind of a dumb idea, wasn't it. I'm a real pain in the ass…"

Violet shook her head. "You are a pain in the ass but not for bringing me here. I wanted to come. I'm not some innocent girl that you're corrupting and you're not my babysitter."

"No, I'm not." Tate hummed slyly. "So what do you wanna do then?"

Violet thought. She didn't like it here, didn't like the implications of a place like this. Suddenly, the Mustang came to mind. It was warm outside and the wind felt nice against her skin. She was free out there. "Maybe I wouldn't mind sleeping in the 'Stang after all."

Tate nodded, smiling wider than before. She was different from all the others and there would be no going back from here on out.


End file.
